


Hotpants

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6541150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindir approves of Elrond’s newest acquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hotpants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loyallokigirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyallokigirl/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for hiddlescone’s “Lindir/Elrond [...] something with a leather kink” prompt on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He arrives with breakfast as usual, backing into the room with his shoulder against the door and his fingers clutching the tray. Today he’s fixed fresh milk, honey-laden bread slices, and a bowl of mixed fruit for his lord: simple but immaculate cuisine for a perfect man with humble tastes. Sometimes, Lindir is lucky enough to catch Elrond still in bed, and he’ll have the pleasure of setting the tray down on Elrond’s lap and watching Elrond eat in the loose robes of the night.

This morning, Elrond’s bed is empty, and Lindir calls, “My lord?” loud enough to carry to the adjacent washroom and balcony.

It’s from the washroom that Elrond emerges, prim, polished, and fully dressed. His long hair’s already been brushed, his golden circlet shimmering in the morning light across his forehead, his handsome face donning a polite smile. Lindir means to return it, but his gaze is swiftly pulled downward.

Instead of the usual elaborate robes, Elrond wears a tan tunic and the tightest pair of brown trousers Lindir’s ever seen. Once he’s spotted them, he can’t look away—they look like they’ve been painted onto Elrond’s skin, hugging his inner thighs and smoothing tantalizingly down his knees, around his calves, every line and curve on crisp display. The dark material is something new to Lindir, though he’s seen it on a mortal guest or two—leather, he thinks—and he never thought much of it before, but he’s never seen Elrond’s _legs_ like this; he can see Elrond’s whole figure, branded into his mind, and he can’t look away from the crotch—the fabric tents ever so slightly, pulled taut over the bulge of Elrond’s package, and Lindir can even make out the distinct outline of _Elrond’s cock_ and it’s turning his brain to nothing, his cheeks heating—he knows he should look away but _can’t_ —how many times has he dreamed of that crotch? Thick robes always cover the whole area, but now Elrond’s body is offered right up to him, and of all the elves in Imladris, this is the one body Lindir’s wanted the most, the one he’s fantasized of and salivated over, and it’s as perfect as he hoped—the jut of Elrond’s hips, the trim tie of his waist, the shadow between Elrond’s legs where the fabric caresses his thighs—Lindir doesn’t realize he’s dropped the tray until he hears it clatter against the floor, cup spilling and plate toppling right over.

He splutters, “Sorry!” and bends over so fast that he almost gets whiplash—severing his view is like a physical blow that he needs a moment to recover from. Mind reeling, Lindir scrambles for the remnants of the tray. Elrond’s swiftly at his side, bare feat and leather-clad ankles appearing in his vision. Elrond bends down to help, passing Lindir the cup, and Lindir blurts, “Thank you.”

He straightens back up before the milky puddle, breakfast effectively ruined, and is acutely aware of how red his face is. Elrond’s kind face appears concerned. “Are you well, Lindir?”

Lindir means to say _yes_ but instead mumbles, “Y... you’re wearing...?”

Elrond frowns and glances down his body, as though only just remembering. With a sigh, he explains, “A gift from King Thranduil, received from his new alliance with Bard of Dale. Apparently, he thought I ‘needed’ it, though I have yet to see the benefits.”

Lindir does, but he’s not about to say it. It’s unusual for him to be grateful to Thranduil, given how much damage the Woodland elves usually do to his kitchens, but he now feels like he owes Thranduil a personal favour. Now that he’s standing up again, he’s staring again. His chin is practically against his chest, eyes glued just below Elrond’s waist, and no matter how hard Lindir tries, he can’t look up again. He doesn’t want to. He knows he should. But he might never get a chance like this again—surely, the moment Elrond steps out into his halls, _someone_ will tell him how dreadfully inappropriate such attire is on such a handsome elf. Lindir can’t help but wonder how the material _tastes_. He’s already had his own breakfast, but he’d love to drop to his knees right here and run his tongue up the front of Elrond’s crotch, lap away at the crude mortal fabric and mouth at the imprint of Elrond’s cock, maybe, if he’s lucky, even dip his tongue inside and lick Elrond’s soft skin and over to the large shaft so cruelly constrained by those trousers—

Elrond’s speaking again, though Lindir thinks he’s missed the first sentence or two, and comes in at, “...perhaps for riding?” Lindir’s only half listening.

Lindir blurts without thinking at all, “I would love for you to ride me.”

It takes him three more seconds of staring at Elrond’s crotch before he realizes what he’s said.

Then his head snaps up, eyes wide. Elrond wears a lightly confused expression. Lindir’s never been so horribly ashamed and simultaneously horny in all his life. 

He clutches the tray to his chest and bolts for the door without another word, calling something about fetching another breakfast, but his brain and mouth don’t seem connected anymore, so he can’t be sure. He hopes Elrond doesn’t take this terrible misstep as a reason to remove those trousers.

And if he does, Lindir dearly hopes that Elrond will ask for help in doing so.


End file.
